


Peaches and Cream

by Jenetica



Series: The Heisenberg Anthology [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: And Lydia gets worked up over it, Banter, Cunnilingus, F/M, Oral Sex, Sex in Finstock's office, Stiles eats a peach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:06:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenetica/pseuds/Jenetica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia was handling this whole post-sex-with-Stiles thing just fine, but then he had to go bring a peach into class and molest it with his mouth and, really, what's a girl to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a follow-up story to The Boy That Knew Just Enough, and I recommend reading that before you read this.
> 
> I am obsessed with this Stiles. Thanks to everyone that pushed me I to writing more Stydia because I just love it a lot. 
> 
> Un-beta'd, guys, so comment if you see any mistakes.

Things were weird now. And, considering Lydia's ex turned into a human-lizard and killed several people, when she said "weird," she meant pretty fucking weird, okay?

Here's the way things were supposed to work out, pre-Stiles-devirginizing: Lydia was going to go to Stiles house, let him sweat and flop his way to an orgasm, and pretend that nothing happened. She'd expected him to become more awkwardly clingy, and she'd expected to have an even more awkward heart-to-heart with him about it, probably in Finstock's office.

That wasn't the way things played out. Lydia should have known better than to actually have a  _plan_ , because, seriously, plans inevitably went awry within Beacon Hills. She suspected witchcraft.

But no, Stiles wasn't awkward, and he wasn't being clingy. In fact, he was actually almost standoffish. Key word: _almost_. He didn't talk to her or leave saccharine presents in her locker, or any of that nonsense, sure, but he was still just as fixated as he ever was. He was just (and Christ, words Lydia _never_ thought she'd use to describe Stiles) subtle about it. Well, as subtle as Stiles got, anyway. Lydia doubted humming Divinyl's "I Touch Myself" in the library would pass under anyone else's definition of the term. Nor was the Breaking Bad poster he'd stuck to the outside of his locker.

Lydia rolled her eyes, sitting down in English and pulling out her binder. They had a sub today, which meant they'd have quiet study time for the period. Good; she'd been trying to work out a particular pattern of differentials in a subset of Maclaurin series. She zoned out, slipping into the haze of trigonometry and factorials with a contented sigh.

She didn't notice anything amiss until the person next to her shifted, sighing exasperatedly. She looked up, registering the wet sounds of someone eating. Oh, the boy must have had misophonia. Poor kid, that was a nasty disorder.

She focused on the wet sounds, eyes finding Stiles instantly. He was leaning back in his desk, thumbing through a comic book, and eating a-- oh, now that was just *inspired*. Lydia felt a warm, impressed tingle of arousal race down her spine to flare between her legs. Stiles turned the page, biting into the peach he'd brought to class and slurping up the juice. He licked his lips and then the meat of the peach, cleaning off excess juice before closing his teeth around another bite. Sweet mother of everything holy.

Lydia crossed her legs, returning to her work, distracted. Each smack of the lips caused her stomach to jolt and twist. Stiles made a noise of surprise and Lydia looked up just in time to watch a thick line of juice run down his bare forearm. He scooped the juice up with the broad of his tongue, following the trail all the way up to the edge of the fruit, which he sucked lightly. Lydia almost didn't catch the way his eyes slanted toward her, but she couldn't possibly have missed the way he grinned into the peach, very much the cat that got the canary.

Yeah, well canaries didn't have claws. Lydia Martin did.

She suffered through the rest of the class, almost whimpering when Stiles sucked at the pit and tossed in in the trash. When the bell rang, she followed him down the packed hallway, sneaking up to shove him into the closest empty room.

It was Finstock's office. Oh, the irony.

"Whoa, hey, I know I'm sexy, but control yourself," Stiles said loudly, wheeling his arms around to catch his balance. He turned, meeting Lydia's judgmental eyes, and paled. "Oh, Lydia. It's you. Um. I retract my previous statement: you are free to be wanton as you please."

Lydia scoffed, turning all the blinds down so that they were hidden from the public eye. "You're unbelievable, Stilinski."

"Like, uh, in the good way?" For all his coy seduction, Stiles looked very much like the timid teenager right now, bracing himself against the desk. "Or in, you know, the Bigfoot way? Because I've been reading about that, and Sasqua-ahhh okay."

Lydia grinned around the fingers in her mouth, licking between them to clean up the sticky juice. She pulled them out slowly, grazing her bottom teeth oh-so-softly over the pads of his fingertips. Stiles made a broken sound, biting at his bottom lip. Lydia licked over his chin next, sucking the lip out from between his teeth and ravaging it with her own. She imagined she could taste the tang of desperation mixing in with the sweetness of peach juice; it was her new favorite flavor.

"You've been naughty," she whispered, running her fingertips down his sides under his plaid over-shirt. Stiles's breath caught in his throat, making Lydia grin viciously. Canary, her ass. "What do we do with naughty boys, Stiles?"

"Jesus, Lydia, I can name about fifty different things," Stiles moaned, "all of which would be A-okay in my book."

"Hm," Lydia replied, thoughtful. "I have homework for you, then. Make up a list, and I'll decide which ones you deserve." Stiles flushed from the roots of his hair down below the line of his t-shirt, averting his eyes. Lydia gasped, cocking her head and smirking, surprised. "Unless you already have one."

Stiles smirked back, mustering up an edge of cockiness. "I thought we'd covered my propensity for research last class, Lydia. Really, you should be taking notes."

"Think we might need a review session," she replied, running her hands under his t-shirt and up to his nipples, pinching them sharply. "Tonight. My place, nine p.m. Bring the list."

Stiles grabbed onto her hips, hiding his face in her hair. "I love it when you're bossy."

Lydia pulled out of his grasp, choosing not to respond to any sentence containing the word 'love.' "But for now, how about a pop quiz?" She dropped to her knees, unzipping his jeans and pulling his cock out before he had a chance to stop her. She stroked at him slowly, watching red rise high in his cheeks as he bit his lip. She suckled on the head of his dick, rubbing the flat of her tongue along the frenulum.

Stiles shut his eyes tightly. "Lyds, I'm trying to be cool, here, but this won't last long if you keep doing that."

Lydia slid deeper, pulsing along the underside with her tongue. This wasn't a test of endurance; it was a punishment. He deserved to feel embarrassed, after torturing her so thoroughly with that stupid peach. Let him pay a little.

"Jesus God, Lydia, your mouth," Stiles breathed, tilting his head back. "You have no idea what you do to me. Those tight little skirts and all those heavy books you carry around and that little frown you get when you focus. So  _sexy_ , all the  _time_. The things I want to do with you…."

Lydia hummed in appreciation, internally smirking when it caused his hips to jerk. His words were like liquid fire, pouring over her skin in torrents of lava. Sex lava. It wasn't a perfect metaphor, but she was distracted, so shut up.

Stiles' moans turned desperate, and he shoved at her shoulders uselessly. “Lyds, hold on, no, I'm gonna, and you haven't--”

Lydia pulled back very, very slowly, sucking hard. Stiles whimpered and spasmed, and come flooded her mouth, hot and bitter. She was going to spit it out in Finstock's trash can, but Stiles was looking down at her like she was Jesus Christ, reborn, and she swallowed instinctively. Stiles made a noise like a dying whale and tugged her to her feet, licking his way into her mouth hungrily. Lydia opened up under him, closing her eyes with a happy sigh.

“Taste like me, goddamn, so hot,” he muttered into her mouth, trailing his fingers up her inner thigh. She bit down on his lip when the fingers wound under her panties, rubbing at her clit with single-minded intensity. Stiles snuffled his way to her ear. “Please let me.”

“Yes, anything, yes,” Lydia gasped. The fingers were alternating sharp, curling jabs at her g-spot and tight, hard circles around her clit, and she wasn't sure which was better. Both, probably.

Stiles spun them so that she was perched on the desk, then rucked her skirt up around her waist. She'd have bitched him out about it, but he was dropping to the floor and  _oh_ , reciprocity was wonderful, wasn't it?

Stiles dragged her panties down her legs and off her feet, stowing them in his pocket. He took one long moment to stare at her, eyes wide like he's discovered Avalon itself, then dove in to suck at her clit. Lydia fought back a shriek, tangling her fingers in his hair. What was this kid's  _secret_?

Stiles moved lower, tongue teasing at he entrance. The tongue pushed up, curling up to rub at her inner walls. Lydia forced her hands to relax, stroking over his hair. He made a sound of disapproval and grabbed at her wrists, pushing them against his head emphatically. Oh. Oh, she could do that. Lydia clenched her fingers into fists against the curve of his scalp, tugging as she rolled her hips. Stiles paused in his efforts, panting into her thigh. “Lydia, you're really challenging my stamina right now.”

And whoa, was he hard again? Already? From eating her out? Lydia wasn't even sure how to handle that, too overloaded on arousal and endorphins to process much of anything.

“But you know what, though?” Stiles continued, pushing two fingers inside of her and thrusting them languidly. “I'm gonna wait. Big exam tonight, and all, gotta be on my a-game.”

“Stiles,” Lydia growled, “if I'm not coming within the next thirty seconds, there will  _be_ no tonight, got it?” Stiles, the bastard, beamed up at her and got to work, rubbing along her g-spot with his fingers and doing something incredible with his tongue on her clit. Ten seconds later, she was screaming her release into her fist, vision turning grey with the force of it. Stiles licked into her opening, drinking her down.

“Mm, peaches and cream. What a delicious lunch.”

Lydia stared down at him, mouth agape. Had he just? “How is it that your mouth can be so useful, and yet so ridiculously stupid?” She stood up tugging her skirt back into place.

“Hey, even Superman's gotta be Clark Kent sometimes,” Stiles pointed out, and Lydia realized she'd been spending way too much time around him, because that actually made sense.

“See you tonight, then,” she said brusquely, aghast that she understood a comic book reference. “Don't be late.” She picked up her bag and strode out of Finstock's office, making her way to her next class.

“I thought the point was not to come early?” Stiles called after her, laughter making his words bubble. Lydia bit her lip, trying (and failing) not to laugh.

It wasn't until she sat down in A.P. French that she realized she'd never gotten her panties back.

Dammit, Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: the 'review session.'
> 
> (You guys should be really happy, because I had to edit and post this on a public computer in my university's library. Awkward.)


	2. The List

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two!
> 
> Warning for some awkwardness and non-graphic descriptions of weird sex acts. Nothing you wouldn't find on Urban Dictionary. Shout-out to Tori for her lengthy, awesome texting convos with me; we brainstormed list ideas together. She's awesome.
> 
> Un-beta-d. Also, forgot to mention this during the first chapter: I use 'markdown' notation when I write, which uses asterisks instead of text formatting. So, if you see asterisks where there should be italics, comment and let me know and I'll fix it. Thanks! Enjoy, everyone!

The doorbell rang promptly at nine, and Lydia knew he'd been waiting in his Jeep for the hour to strike, just to be an ass. She rolled her eyes, hating herself for being amused. She opened the door. “Hello, Stiles. Wait, why do you have bags?”  
  
Stiles blushed, hefting the duffel bag in his left hand. “Um... Supplies?”  
  
“What kind of supplies could you possibly need?” Lydia asked incredulously, not sure if she wanted to let him in, now.  
  
“A change of clothes, and, you know, things.”  
  
“Get in here,” Lydia sighed, opening the door wide. What on Earth had she gotten herself into? And why was it so damned exciting?  
  
“So, I, um, I printed out the list,” Stiles said, dropping the duffel with a scarily loud _thunk_ and pulling out a packet of papers.  
  
Lydia stared at him. “ _That_ is your list? Jesus, Stiles, I didn't know that many sex acts _existed_.”  
  
Stiles flushed, turning and even darker red. “You're the one that planned this,” he pointed out defensively. “And most of it is descriptions, anyway. I Urban-Dictionaried everything, just in case.”  
  
Lydia ripped the list from his hands, reading over the first few entries. Mutual masturbation, wall sex, kitchen sex…. “This seems tame.” Too tame, but Lydia didn't want to say that aloud for fear of jinxing herself.  
  
“Um yeah, it's organized... yeah.”  
  
Lydia nodded dumbly, suddenly scared of the last page. “So, do you want water, or something?” God, she could use a drink. Preferably something with vodka in it.  
  
“Sure,” Stiles said, smiling shyly. “Thanks.”  
  
And then Lydia felt bad, because boys had delicate egos and she'd basically just alienated the fuck out of him for being honest with her. She _had_ demanded this list, after all, even if it was just to see how freaky this kid got. Which was apparently super-duper freaky.  
  
She led him to the kitchen. “I have water, diet Coke, cranberry juice, vodka, whiskey, and a Slim Fast.”  
  
“I can have whiskey? Wait, we can drink?”  
  
“My parents and I have an open agreement,” Lydia said, pouring herself a seabreeze (minus the grapefruit, because ew). “I'm allowed to drink whatever I want in the house, as long as I'm responsible about it. They would rather I learn about vices in the safety of my home than out among questionable company.”  
  
Stiles gaped at her. “Can we trade parents?”  
  
Lydia thought about the Sheriff and snorted. “No way, Stilinski. Now, what'll it be?”  
  
“What are you having?”  
  
“Vodka and cranberry juice.”  
  
“That.”  
  
Lydia nodded once and made him a drink, adding less vodka to his than her own. The very last thing she wanted was a drunk Stiles on her hands.  
  
They took their drinks to the living room. “Where are your parents?” Stiles asked, looking around the empty house.  
  
“Dad went to a symposium on theoretical physics,” Lydia said, sounding bitter. "Mom tagged along for the open bar."  
  
“But you couldn't go because of school,” Stiles inferred, smiling fondly at her. “That actually really sucks. You should be able to get a pass for that, or something. It's just as educational.”  
  
Lydia tamped down on the urge to rant with him about it, because damn it, he was _right_.  
  
“Lyds,” Stiles said softly, seeing her struggle, “you can be upset around me. It's okay. I'm a pretty decent listener.”  
  
“Yeah, you are,” Lydia agreed, returning his soft smile before she could stop herself. “I just hate being forced to attend a sub-standard institution. If they're going to make adolescents waste away their formative years in an educational system, they could at least make that system worthwhile. Do you know how much smarter America could be if we allowed our gifted students to excel, instead of blowing oodles of money on giving every student the same education, regardless of intelligence? I mean, I have nothing against those on the lower side of the spectrum, but it’s ridiculous that truly smart people aren't allowed to flourish until college.”  
  
Stiles put his glass on the coffee table next to Lydia's, looking contemplative, and the next second he was on her, kissing her so fervently she thought maybe he'd lost his mind. She would gladly accept an insane Stiles, if this was the result. She kissed him back, reaching up to play with the collar of his plaid.  
  
“Every time I think I've seen the most beautiful Lydia to ever Lydia, you come up with something even better,” he said, sounding frustrated. “You're an exceptionally unfair person, in that regard.”  
  
“Yeah, says the boy that decided to become a sex god and succeeded,” Lydia said without thinking, flustered. Stiles inhaled and she realized what she'd said. Fuck. The last thing you should tell a teenaged boy is that they're good at sex; after that, they turn into great clouds of arrogance and never come back from their new residence in Pompous-land.  
  
Only, Lydia considered, eyeing Stiles, maybe this boy in particular could use some flattery. He certainly didn't seem to be puffing up with ego. In fact, he seemed even more shy than before.  
  
“I just have really good inspiration, I guess,” he said, looking at her somewhere around her collarbone. Lydia rolled her eyes, reluctantly charmed off her feet by this impossible, stupid, sexy human being.  
  
“Alright, Romeo,” she drawled, “let's take a look at this list of yours.” They sat next to each other on the sofa, Lydia downing half of her drink before picking up the intimidating packet of papers.  
  
“Just so we're clear, this is a personal bucket list,” Stiles stated, fingers tangling nervously. “I don't expect you to agree to any of them. I mean, I want you to, God, do I, but you're not, you know, obligated, or anything.”  
  
“Stiles,” Lydia said, cutting off his rambling. “How about we read this thing before we make any judgment calls, okay? Drink your vodka.” She picked up the list and started reading.  
  
Stiles gulped his drink until it was gone. “That is actually way better than whiskey.”  
  
Lydia nodded, preoccupied with ’Snowballing.’ “Most 'girly' drinks are; one of the perks of being the 'weaker' gender.”  
  
Stiles snorted. “Fuck that. I'd love to see someone try to give you shit. I imagine something between the trial scene in Legally Blonde and Gladiator.”  
  
“Add a pinch of Leeloo,” Lydia said, rooting through her purse to find a pen. She checked off 'Cunnilingus' and 'Blow Job.' Stiles made a choked noise, and Lydia looked to find him staring at her. “What?”  
  
“You... you made a Fifth Element reference.”  
  
“Yes, I did. I quite like how the loud one, Ruby, blurs the gender line and makes that sexy. Oh, and the chicken microwave-y thing. We need those. I would be down for snowballing, by the way. Tea-bagging isn't all it's cracked up to be, apparently, but we can do that, too.”  
  
Stiles stared at her, mouth open. “Marry me.” Lydia laughed, taking a sip of her drink. “No, seriously, you went from sci-fi to experimental sex in one breath. Lydia.”  
  
Lydia didn't respond, too busy reading about 'Sounding.' “Hold on, Stiles, what? You want someone to shove metal up your dick? That's, like, a catheter.”  
  
“Yeah,” Stiles replied, making a grossed out face. “That's one of the ones I'm not actually really into, but I stuck it on the bucket list because you never know what you'll be into in the future.”  
  
Lydia took a long look at him, all awkward limbs and nervous energy, the total opposite of Jackson. “True that.”  
  
Stiles shrugged, as if to say 'See? Life is crazy.’  
  
Lydia crossed 'Sounding' out and moved on through the list. Most of it actually sounded intriguing, and a few entries had her clenching her thighs in interest. Particularly 'Pegging,' which she circled and starred.  
  
Stiles choked on air, coughing. “You'd be down for that? Pegging?”  
  
Lydia pictured herself driving into Stiles with a strap-on, the way his face would pink up so pretty as she pounded into him. She'd heard about prostate stimulation and how it wrecked guys. Jackson had never been into it, and she'd never bothered asking Aiden, but she'd always been curious about it, and she was one-hundred percent willing to give instead of take, for once. “Definitely. So this one isn't a ’just for kicks?’”  
  
Stiles flopped backwards, staring at the ceiling. Lydia frowned; had she broken him? She waited a few seconds for him to respond and, when he didn't, turned back to the list. Sixty-nineing, okay, not so bad. Lydia was surprised it was all the way on the second page. She circled it. She took a sip of her drink, smacking her lips against the bite of vodka. The next entry was untitled, and described coming inside a girl, then sucking all of the come out. She circled and starred this one; that sounded Fifty Shades of Hot, right there.  
  
She read 'Rimming' and considered it for a moment. “Stiles, are you functional again yet?”  
  
“Depends. Are you about to wow me with another sexual revelation?”  
  
“That's a yes,” she replied dryly. “Okay, so rimming. Giving or receiving?”  
  
Stiles froze, turning his head to look at her slowly. “What?”  
  
“Rimming. Like, do you want to rim or be rimmed?”  
  
Stiles whimpered. “I had no idea it was possible to be mortified and so turned on at the same time. Jesus. Either, but giving? I mean, no offense, but I don't think I could handle you licking my ass. Like, I'm pretty sure I'd just combust from the weirdness before the going got good, you know?”  
  
Lydia smirked, circling the entry. Stiles whimpered again, hiding his face in his hands. “You're ruining me, Heisenberg.”  
  
“There are rules,” she demanded, pointing her finger at him. “It has to be premeditated, it cannot be combined with other parts-licking, and no kissing afterwards without brushing teeth. Oh, and does that make you Jesse or Skylar?”  
  
“Goddammit, Lydia, you're giving me sexy whiplash,” Stiles groaned. “I agree to your terms. Jesse, because fuck Skylar. And when did you start watching Breaking Bad?”  
  
“After I was dubbed Heisenberg,” Lydia said, shrugging. “It's good background noise for chemistry homework. Will rimming be accompanied by anal?”  
  
Stiles sneered in disgust. “No way. There's nothing pleasurable for girls in anal. I'm not interested in intercourse that doesn't involve mutual enjoyment.”  
  
Lydia bit her lip, the words “marry me” ringing around in her head. If she was being completely truthful, she could do a lot fucking worse. If she was being *painfully* honest, she already _had_. “Good. I think I speak for the entirety of the female gender when I say that I appreciate that.”  
  
“I think of it like symbiotic relationships, like from biology? Parasitic relationships are a definite no-go, of course. Commensalist sex acts, where one person benefits and the other doesn't get anything from it, that's kind of out, too. Unless it's followed by a reciprocal act. Mutualism is the goal, here. Orgasms for everybody. Like Oprah, but sex.”  
  
Lydia laughed, smacking him on the arm. “And then you say things like that, and I remember why you're the token virgin."  
  
"Hey, now," Stiles defended, holding up both hands, "I distinctly remember losing the title of virgin."  
  
"Oh, sweetheart," Lydia sighed, patting his knee sympathetically. "You will _always_ be the token virgin."  
  
"Will you just finish reading the list, please?" Stiles asked, exasperated. "Believe it or not, this is a deeply personal, stressful encounter, here."  
  
"Oh, poor baby," Lydia said, pouting her lips. "Is the sex talk making you nervous?”  
  
Stiles stuck his tongue out at her and, despite herself, she felt a pulse of warmth in her stomach. It must have shown on her face because Stiles' face widened to a knowing grin. “I strongly recommend finishing that list quickly,” he suggested silkily.  
  
Lydia finished her drink, taking her time just to watch Stiles' confidence falter. They were officially on the last two pages now; the descriptions were a lot longer, here, and the names were more and more ridiculous.  
  
“Alaskan Salmon Run Moustache” had her cackling into the palm of her hand. “Please tell me you're kidding with this one.”  
  
Stiles leaned over her shoulder and he snickered. “Oh, no, I totally want to smack someone across the face with a nasty-ass salmon that I split open and jerked off into. Why, doesn't that sound like fun to you?”  
  
Lydia threw her head back and laughed, feeling the alcohol tingle in her fingertips and toes. “Don't forget the part where you fuck me in the ass with it until I come. Like _that_ happens.”  
  
Stiles shuddered. “Can we finish this list now? Like, right now, right now?”  
  
Lydia glanced at his lap, where his red jeans were stretched tight over his boner, and felt something warm slide down her spine. The rest of the list was downright gross, there for shock value more than actual interest, so she tossed it aside and straddled Stiles, moving her hips over his in a purposeful, hard rub. He arched up, mouth dropping open and eyes falling half-shut. “So,” she whispered into his ear, “wanna tell me about your super-secret bag of tricks now?”  
  
Stiles grinned. “You kidding?” he asked, voice heavy and loose. “Lydia Martin, we have _all night_.”  
  
“Later, then,” she concluded, kissing him hungrily. Stiles' hands fell to her waist, tracing the waistband of her skirt and dipping just underneath it. The kiss turned slow, then, a gentle meeting of tongues and lips.  Lydia speared her fingers through his hair (and thank God he finally grew it out; it was _so_ much sexier now) and tilted his head to lick into his mouth. He tasted of cranberries and sweetness, causing Lydia to suck on his tongue to pull the flavor out.  
  
Stiles growled, cupping Lydia's ass through her skirt and pushing it down, grinding deliciously. Still moving slowly, Lydia pushed his shirt down off his shoulders. Stiles broke away from the kiss to yank the sleeves off, pulling his t-shirt off, as well. Lydia purred in approval.  
  
“Confession?” she said, sucking at the hollow of his collarbone. “I always thought you'd be scrawny under all your layers.”  
  
“Oh?” Stiles replied, half-moan and half-question. “What am I, then?”  
  
Lydia bent a little and licked the slight bump along the side of his pec. “Lean. Fit. Lithe.”  
  
“Sexy?”  
  
Lydia purred again. “Definitely.”  
  
Stiles grinned, breathless, and worked at the buttons of her blouse. “Note to self: stop taking 'roids. I'm perfect just the way I am.”  
  
Lydia would have bitten out a reply, but Stiles was sucking hard on her nipple through her shirt, and witty repartee fell to the wayside. She clutched at his head, rocking her body forward into his touch. Stiles licked a hot path between her breasts, one hand cupping her right breast while the other splayed low on her back.  
  
Lydia pulled her shirt off and leaned into Stiles' ear. “You can take my bra off any day now.” A second later, the pressure against her back disappeared and her breasts fell loose. She sighed in relief-- the lacy, black bra she wore was amazing and supportive, but also deeply uncomfortable-- and straightened her spine.  
  
Stiles sucked in a breath, holding very still. “God, Lydia, I wish you could see yourself.” He ran a finger under the loose underwire of her bra, now barely touching the curve of her breast. “So perfect, like this.”  
  
Lydia stopped then, too, the air growing heavy and poignant. She was disgruntled to realize that, emotional and intimate as it was, it wasn't uncomfortable. And _that_ was uncomfortable. Instead of answering (and what would she say? She couldn't tell him the truth, that he _made_ her this way, this beautiful, but she also couldn't lie to him, not anymore than she could lie to herself. And she'd been trying and failing to lie to herself for weeks, now), she dropped her hands to his lap, working open the button and zipper of his jeans.  
  
Sentimental moment forgotten, apparently, Stiles sighed happily and unzipped her skirt. Lydia stood up, shimmying out of her skirt. “Jesus, Lyds, no underwear?” Stiles asked helplessly. His cock, red and peeking out of his boxers, jerked slightly.  
  
Lydia smirked. “I seem to remember someone stealing them this morning.”  
  
Stiles' hand fell to his pocket, the lump of Lydia's underwear tiny under the tight denim, and grinned broadly. “Oh, yeah.”  
  
“Uh huh, Lover Boy,” Lydia said, rolling her eyes. “So, you gonna take off your pants, or what?” Stiles laughed and lifted his hips, shoving down both his jeans and boxers, then raised his legs and pushed them all the way off. He stood, bringing his body mere inches away from Lydia's.  
  
Almost against her will, she plastered herself to his front. “Just where do you think you're going?”  
  
Stiles moaned, high and reedy, and spread his hands out against her back. “Duffel.” He nosed along the side of her neck, sucking harshly on the edge of her trapezius. “Condoms.”  
  
Lydia slid the flats of her palms up his sides, pushing up over his chest to rest on his shoulders. “I think not.” She shoved him back, grinning at the way he bounced, shocked, on the couch.  
  
“You mean we-- but, I thought we...? Lydia?” Stiles questioned, looking hurt. He thought she was rejecting him, she realized. Lydia chuckled darkly, reveling in the anticipation of what she was about to say. She climbed back into his lap, circling her arms loosely around his neck.  
  
“Fun fact: birth control raises progesterone, a hormone produced by fertile females, to levels much higher than normal. It tricks the body into thinking it's already pregnant. That's why you can't conceive when you're on the Pill. Did you know that?”  
  
Stiles looked thunderstruck. “What?”  
  
Lydia played with his hair, taking a moment to enjoy his  disbelieving hope. Was that sadistic? Moreover, did he care? Answer: nope, not even a little.  
  
“Making inferences is important, Stiles,” she chided, affecting disappointment.  
  
“No condoms,” he breathed, eyes wide.  
  
“Gold star,” she said, leaning forward to kiss his slack mouth. “I figured, why not get started on that list of yours. Two birds, one stone.”  
  
Suddenly, she was moving. She landed with her back to the couch cushions, Stiles looming over her, looking predatory. Lydia swallowed convulsively, wondering, not for the first time, what the hell she'd gotten herself into.  
  
Stiles' eyes softened, possibly from seeing the look of surprise on her face. “You're sure? We don't have to, Lydia. Seriously, I don't--”  
  
Lydia rolled up, dragging her mound over the length of his dick. “Positive.”  
  
Stiles groaned, dropping his head to her neck. “Goddammit, Lydia. One of these days you're actually going to kill me. I hope you wither from guilt when it happens.” He shifted, and Lydia felt the head of his dick slide along her slit. Stiles pushed in slowly, drawing a heavy sigh of relief from Lydia.  
  
“If I kill you from sexual overload, Stilinski, I think guilt's gonna be one of the _last_ things I feel. For example, right now I'm feeling pretty frustrated, because _someone's_ decided to stop moving.”  
  
Stiles pulled almost all the way out, sliding back in with a snap of his hips, causing Lydia to mewl. “Oh?” he asked, grinding himself into her before pulling out again. "So terribly sorry."  
  
He started a slow, heady rhythm of grinding into her as hard as he could between deep thrusts. His pelvic bone rubbed against her clit on every stroke, and Lydia felt her toes go numb.  
  
“God, you're so wet,” Stiles whispered, looking down at where their bodies were joined. “Couldn't feel you properly last time. Wet, and _hot_ , God. You're a fucking furnace around me, Lydia Martin, you scorch me from the insides out.”  
  
“Mm,” Lydia replied, eyes closed. “Love it when you talk. Talk too much. S'perfect.”  
  
And yeah, she'd probably hate herself for admitting that later, especially because Stiles' face broke into a wide, vindictive smile.  
  
“Yeah?” He dropped to his elbows, burying his face in her hair. “Good, because I love talking to you. Telling you how good you make me feel, how crazy. Do you know how much I've jerked off, thinking about the way you tasted on my lips?” His hips jerked hard, rhythm stuttering. “Get off on it so much, you have no idea.”  
  
Lydia arched up, nails scrabbling down his back. She pictured him jerking off in his room, sucking on his own bottom lip as if to wean some of her juices from it. Said juices gushed between her legs, soaking Stiles from his position inside her.  
  
“Fucking Christ, Lyds,” Stiles gasped, shoving a hand between their bodies to feel at her wetness. “From me talking?” Lydia moaned, nodding her head, too far gone to feel embarrassed. She was reaching the home stretch to her orgasm, spine tingling, and all she cared about was the hot, hard press of Stiles inside her.  
  
“Fuck, Lyds, I'm, I'm gonna,” Stiles ground out, hips pumping into her. “So perfect, can't hold on.” He shuttered into her, pulsing hot waves of come into her body. Lydia cried out; the sensation of receiving come was glorious on an instinctual level, forcing her to clench around Stiles to keep all of it inside, but it was also disappointing because, dammit, she'd been so close!  
  
Stiles pulled out slowly, groaning, and Lydia whimpered at the feeling of emptiness. He sucked hot, sloppy open-mouthed kisses down her torso, lingering over her nipples. “Make me feel so good,” he mumbled, sounding dopey, “cause you let me be with you. Wanted you, so long.” He licked a slow line from hipbone to hipbone, biting down on the ridge of one gently. “Wanna make you feel good, too.”  
  
And faced with words like that, Lydia couldn't even feel impatient. She stopped him, tugging his head by the hair until his eyes met hers. “You do,” she said seriously.  
  
Something indescribable passed over Stiles' face, something that made Lydia's heart thump hard. A moment later, he buried his head between her legs, biting at her clit fiercely.  
  
When asked later, Lydia would classify the sound she made as one of surprise and indignant pleasure. Stiles would call it a scream.  
  
Stiles shoved his tongue between her legs, pushing his hands to her thighs to separate them. A wave of arousal flushed down her body, and Stiles sucked it up with flourish. “God,” he moaned, pausing to stare up at her, cheeks and chin shiny, “you taste like me. Like _us_.” He put his mouth back to work, coaxing pulses of fluid from her body. Soon his fingers joined the fray, pushing up into her then withdrawing while Stiles sucked them clean.  
  
Lydia's orgasm hit like a hurricane, slamming down in torrents of pleasure. Stiles groaned a hissing “yes” and licked her dry, fingers working the spot inside her until she saw stars.  
  
When she came down, Stiles was wiping at his face with his hands, licking the wetness from them. Lydia sighed, content. “Damn, Stilinski.”  
  
“Hmm?” He paused, staring up at her like a deer caught in the headlights. “Whaa?”  
  
Lydia laughed, endorphins making her lethargic. “That's one checked off the list, then.”  
  
Stiles crawled back up her body, graceful where he was usually so awkward. “Mm, I'm not sure. I wouldn't cross it off just yet. Might not have experienced the full effect; more tests are needed.”  
  
Lydia smiled, curling her arms around his waist. He fell into the curve of her body, fitting between her legs like he was meant to be there. “Mm, the best results are those that are repeatable,” she stated knowledgeably. “In fact, scientists usually test theories hundreds of times before they are fully accepted.”  
  
Stiles beamed down at her. “Alright, Heisenberg. Let's be scientists.”  
  
Lydia's head fell to the side and her eyes found the list. This was just one of the several things she'd agreed to, and she felt like jelly. What had she gotten herself _into_?  
  
More importantly, why on Earth would she ever want to get out?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww. For clarification, the mentioned acts in the list are neither exclusionary nor inclusionary; just because I mention them doesn't mean they'll come up again, and just because I didn't mention something doesn't mean I won't use it in the future. I'm leaving this nice and open. If you have any suggestions/requests, ask for them! (Try to keep the characterization in mind though; for example, this Stiles would never force Lydia to submit, etc.)
> 
> I highly, highly recommend looking up the Alaskan Salmon Run Moustache. It's awesome and hilarious and stupid.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> EDIT: Hi, I've had a few readers kindly inform me that anal can be awesome for girls, and, I agree, I was a bit hasty in my gloss-over there. That said, some girls love anal, but some really don't. Furthermore, I find anal to be a little mysterious in het writing, especially when there's so much slash out there. I know, I know: slash and het are two different things, and anal with a girl is different from anal with a boy. But, personally, when I write het I refrain from anal. I like vaginas. So yeah, I was wrong to rule out the anal on a theoretical scale (and I really am sorry, I don't mean to offend anyone), but I won't be using it in my Stydia fics. At least Lydia!anal; Stiles!anal is way, way on my to-do list :)


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